The Old Familiar Sting
by eden alice
Summary: She can't decide if she needs Jack or if she has lost so much of herself along with all the tragedy she was not the same person anymore. Ronnie and Max coping badly.


This is a Ronnie/Max sex story (and not a happy story) but contains a lot of references to Ronnie/Jack. I just couldn't stop myself writing this. Max and Ronnie are just so similar and have had so many near misses. It is set in current Eastenders only Ronnie never asked Jack to track down Glenda. I'd love to know what you think.

The Old Familiar Sting

She held her ground as he slowly leaned in, eyes darting over her face to read her reaction. They have found themselves in the same position an alarming amount of times. Only this time Ronnie did not turn her head as Max kissed her.

She did not respond at first, the alcohol running through her veins making everything more muffled and hazy. Her fingers were numb and she barely noticed how tightly she clutched the bar.

"Just let it fall away Ron."

He breathed in her ear and she did not know if she wanted to laugh or cry. Instead she closed her eyes and opened her mouth under his. He tasted like copper and bitter maybe if she shut her eyes tight enough she could pretend he was someone else but what was the point when it did not matter anyway. She wondered if he would pretend she was Tanya.

All she wanted was to forget. She tried drowning it all in drink but nothing seemed to stop the imagines playing in her mind they only became more abstract and excruciating.

If she couldn't melt away and escape her body she would ground herself in banal sensation, the way his neatly trimmed nails dug into her waist, the warmth of his tongue in her mouth. She thought about hurting herself but this was so much more apt. Now she was betraying someone else she thought she loved once upon a time. After all that was what she did, daddy always told her she would destroy everything she touched.

Max seemed equally drunk and desperate. His eyes were so dark they could be black and empty and so familiar that she could not look into them. Instead she focused on his lips as he talked to her listening to the low timber of his tone rather than the words.

They were both made of shrapnel and sharp edges but any new hurt was welcomed. This was never about comfort; neither of them was that kind of person not while there was a way of sinking even further.

Somehow they had ended up alone in the pub and Ronnie could not remember if they had locked the door or if anyone was currently upstairs. Now would be a perfect time for Roxy to walk in and save her from her drunken self. Her sister would sober her up and shout and in the morning Ronnie would be horrified at what she almost did. But then Roxy was new at being the protective sister and she did not understand the depth of Ronnie's hopelessness.

She brought a hand up to cup his jaw as the kiss grew heavier, the stubble stung the sensitive pads of her fingers and somewhere under the haze of alcohol there was a flash of a memory of her father because he would never leave her alone, not even in death. Maybe she would open her eyes and his body would be lying on the floor bleeding again. His eyes locked on her.

Max's hands were hot under her shirt as he traced the line of vertebra down the centre of her back before following the curve of her ribs round to her front. It suddenly occurred to Ronnie that she felt cold so she pressed herself tighter against him. He moaned into her mouth and she bit he's lip just enough to draw blood and make him squirm.

"Please don't stop." The voice sounds like hers but she didn't remember saying the words. She did not do this and she never begged but if he stepped away from her now she would simply shatter because her walls had fallen and she had no way to save herself from the weight of her pain.

"I'm not going to babe." She was beyond wishing he would not call her that so she slid her hands underneath his shirt, placing her palms flat against his abdomen and felt his muscles twitch under them. She thinks about how easy it to get a reaction out of him and silently commands him to stop her thinking all together.

His belt buckle is suddenly very complicated with her drunken coordination. She fumbles with the clasp but can not bring herself to pull away so she could see her actions because Max was kissing his way down her neck, teeth scraping a particularly sensitive area and her knees almost buckle.

She doesn't bother undoing his trousers once she finally has the belt unfastened, just snakes her hand down deliberately brushing over his cock. He swears into her neck voice so low she is reminded of being in the same situation with his brother. How it could be so different with Jack and yet so similar, it had been a different time back then, she had been a different person.

Ronnie wounded if Max felt guilty for betraying his brother and his estranged wife, or if this was a game to him, another spiteful way to get back at his sibling. She thinks that she might feel guilty but so many negative emotions darken her that she cannot separate one out like a specimen for closer analysis. All that she can understand is that it fucking hurts and she has no idea how to make it stop.

Being with Jack was the closest she had ever been to feeling like a functioning human being in the longest time, the closest to home. And now Jack was waiting for her, trying to be there for her after her miscarriage and not to pressure her. And as much as she wants to fall into his arms she wants to scream more. She could not open herself to him when even her mother walks away at the first opportunity.

Greedy and impatient Max unfastened his own trousers and lets them and his pants unceremoniously drop to his ankles before his hands are back on her, under her top and covering her breasts. She grinds herself against his hands trying to lose herself in sensation because she is starting to sober up and knows herself well enough that she will think this is a bad idea. She can't decide if she needs Jack or if she has lost so much of herself along with all the tragedy she was not the same person anymore.

She is unfocused and wobbles slightly when Max drops to his knees, his hands trailing over her curves as he goes. He stares up at her from his position crouched at her feet and she wants to claw his eyes out because there is an understanding in his eyes that she does not want. He watches her reaction the way her chest rises and falls with each breath and she wants to tell him something shocking, like how sometimes things get so confusing she starts to wonder if maybe it was her who killed Archie.

He smirks at the brittle anger in her eyes as he reaches up under her skirt and cups her arse before pulling her underwear down. She steps out of the flimsy fabric it catching momentarily on heels that Roxy had lent her.

There was no point undressing further and Ronnie wonders if somehow she has planed this. She had worn a skirt for the first time in weeks and had taken her tights off earlier when she had laddered them.

And all of a sudden panic started to bubble in her chest, it feels like she is about to lose something, it is a feeling so familiar and yet it still takes her breath away.

Before she can think any further or tell him to stop Max has her pushed up against the nearest wall. Her head contacts painfully against the surface and she revels in it remembering how her father had pushed her in the same pub and took away another chance at happiness. So she goes willingly, wrapping her legs around his waist so that her skirt bunches high around her waist. Her hand ends up against the solidness of his chest and she can feel his heart beating under the skin and bone. Sometimes she wonders if her own heart is still there.

"Fuck, I need…" Max swears again and does not finish his sentence. They both want things they will never have. But maybe he doesn't mean his wife and children maybe he just wants to pour all his anger and loneliness out and into her. She would welcome that, it was like a dare, how much can she take. Max is cold anger directed at everyone but himself, she had given up on even pretending everything was not her fault. She had started to wear her pain like a badge; it was in the pale hollows of her cheeks, the haunted look in her eyes and the darkness of her clothes.

He shifts her in his arms and she can feel the head of his cock pressed against her opening. She hisses and he looks her directly in the eye as if it just occurred to him that she might not want this.

"Do it." She orders him voice low and serious. His face shifts again but under the shadows she can not read his expression.

She closes her eyes and lets her head roll back as he shifts his hips and enters her, there is a warm burning pain because she is not ready that quickly mixes with bursts of sharper pleasure.

There is an urgency and violence with how he thrusts into her, the bones of her shoulder blades are uncomfortable against the flat surface and Max's fingers grip her thighs tight enough to bruise.

She wraps her legs around him tighter as he sets a rhythm, his mouth is hot and wet against her collar bone and his groans vibrate against her skin. Besides the tiniest sighs she remains silent and oddly removed, using him as much as he is using her.

"Can't hold on much longer." He pants and she never expected this to be anything but fleeting.

He is still in her when he pulls her away from the wall and drops them both to the floor. Ronnie opens her eyes to find herself on her back with Max heavy against her chest. The floor is cold against her exposed skin and she thinks about how she has never looked at the pub from this angle before.

She grips Max's biceps as he uses his arms to pull himself up, sweat turning the thin fabric damp. His pace quickly becomes erratic and faster and she thinks she hears him sob.

He comes before she can get anywhere near close enough to do the same and collapses in a boneless heap on top of her. She could feel his semen warm and foreign inside her but can't bring herself to regret not using a condom. The self hatred would undoubtedly come later instead she focuses on all the new ways she feels cold and unsatisfied and empty.

It is not enough to change anything and Max is not heavy enough against her. She wishes his body was enough to push her further into the ground until she disappeared into the dank darkness of soil and mud. Then she could finally be with her daughter and soon her father once the funeral was over.

Numbly she holds him against her chest as he waits for his breathing to return to normal. Her mind filled with memories of herself cradling the dying bodies of her daughter and her father.

Eventually he pulls away and they dress in silence. She is just searching for her underwear when Max approaches her with a shot of vodka. He gives her a small nod as he hands her the drink and she lets him kiss her on the lips after she downs the alcohol.

Max does not ask why before he leaves her alone in the silence and she knows he understands. The sex can not possibly make her feel any worse and it would never make her feel any better. It makes her feel safe because while Max may want her body he does not want to save her soul.


End file.
